


It Could Be Sweet

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Hux is Not Nice, Inspired by Art, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Old Married Couple, Old men Kylux, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The First Order wins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 19:58:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16102736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: The years have been kinder to them than they deserve.They do know how to appreciate that.





	It Could Be Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeusus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeusus/gifts).



> I haven't been writing much of anything these days, as there is a gremlin on the side of the bus known as my brain, but: [jeusus did a gorgeous picture of Old Men Kylux](http://jeusus.tumblr.com/post/178428407218/emperor-and-consort-52-aby-we-really-need-more#notes) and lo and behold, my brain provided me some smut because apparently this is a thing I wanted very much. I banged this out in an afternoon. Because so did they. Um.
> 
> <3

The sensation of his approach did not make Kylo turn to meet him, not even when he came close enough by Kylo’s side that they touched from shoulder to hip. By instinct, Kylo shifted one arm to draw him closer still; in answer, a palm came to rest at the small of his back. The hand now upon Armitage’s shoulder was only the cybernetic one, but it didn’t matter. Kylo had long been able to feel him deeper than mere touch.

The young woman before him had gone very still now. A practised and seasoned soldier, she had been bold enough to come before her supreme leader without express invitation. But to be under the cool grey-green-blue gaze of their grand marshal – ah, that was proving to be something very different indeed. Even as they both watched she straightened just a little, though her military stance had already been all but perfect. The pause in their conversation dragged ever on; she would not, could not speak first. And Armitage, it seemed, was in no mood to break this silence.

Kylo took pity – not so much for her own sake, but for the fact she had served them both well in campaigns stretching from the Core to the very wild reaches of the Unknown Realms. “Captain Abari,” he said, low, thoughtful, “I trust you are honoured to appear here before the Grand Marshal.”

“I – of course.” Something shifted in her pale eyes as she turned towards him; not quite fear, perhaps, but something that existed within the same kaleidoscope. “Grand Marshal Hux.”

“Tyrene Abari.” He accepted her salute without a blink, voice the clear carrying command he used upon the parade grounds. “I know your name.”

Had she been any less than exquisitely trained, Kylo supposed they might both have seen the tremor he only sensed move through her body entire. “I give my life in service to the Order, Grand Marshal,” she said, most demurely; the spark that lit in Armitage’s eyes proved as cruel as his voice now was not.

“Oh, you haven’t given it. Not yet.” Indeed, he sounded so very nearly gentle, when he added, “But there’s still time.”

Her eyes grew a little wider, her voice admirably even. “…sir?”

And he pressed closer still, against Kylo’s side, his chin tilting high as he looked down upon her. He was but bastard son whelped by a kitchen maid – and yet he could so easily stare down those of the most purely Imperial of bloodlines. “I’m sure we have further missions in which you could serve the Supreme Leader.” Her eyes could not help but flick to his own; Armitage’s chuckle held all the humourless vow of an execution order. “Because you _want_ to serve him, don’t you?”

Like a guillotine, the words hung primed and heavy over her head. From beneath her high collar, a deep scarlet had begun to rise, and she could not look away from Kylo.

“Captain Abari…?”

Flustered, now, she turned back to Armitage; her misery came sudden and terrible, and Kylo could all but taste salt and iron upon the air. “I want to serve the First Order. Sir.”

“Good.” That false generosity he spent so easy, perfectly genteel. Turning into Kylo, one hand rose to lay careful upon his broad chest, light as a finger over a trigger as he smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

And there she stood, trapped and still as a rebel ship in a destroyer’s tractor beam. Kylo’s own hand shifted upon a stiff shoulder, faint hum of the gears driving his fingers. “You’re excused, Captain.”

Abari jerked, then nodded, jittery and tight. “I – thank you, Supreme Leader.” Then, almost too quick, turning to him too: “Grand Marshal.”

Only Kylo watched her go. Armitage, still so close, looked to him alone, his gaze as heavy upon his skin as new starlight.

“Was that really necessary?”

A snort was his only answer. And then the hand shifted, gloved fingers slipping beneath the low diagonal of his collar. Kylo glanced down, found Armitage’s gaze evenly meeting his in the silence.

“Armitage?”

His fingertips but grazed over his nipple, soft and seeking – and then his thumb struck quick, catching it tight and sharp against them. Even as Kylo stiffened, he raised an eyebrow, said mildly, “We’re hardly alone, Grand Marshal.”

“Oh, but we could be.” His other hand moved low, ghosted over the swell of his ass. “Supreme Leader.”

He might have rolled his eyes, at that – both at Armitage’s transparent attempt at flattery, and at the fact despite all these years, he would fall for it again. But in truth, it wasn’t as if he wanted to look anywhere else but to Armitage alone.

“Shall we go upstairs, then?” His hand shifted, back towards the nape of his neck. “Or will the nearest alcove suffice?”

A click of the tongue, and a shake of his head. “We’re not animals, Kylo.”

“But we could be.”

The pinch of his nipple came harder this time; Kylo couldn’t be sure if it were warning or invitation. But then his hand withdrew, and without a word Armitage strode away and across the great ballroom. Despite the fact it teemed with people, his aide materialised a moment later, as if summoned by some invisible command; there were times, it seemed, that Armitage had somehow begun to take from Kylo his own immense connection to the Force, and the powers that came with it.

 After the exchange of a few words, Armitage turned back, met Kylo’s gaze. He did not beckon. The command in his eyes spoke all that he did not say. Still Kylo came to him by his own choice, stride lazy and long as it devoured the distance between them. There was no need to look to know that the eyes of the room lay upon them both. But neither looked back, moving in perfect matched step together through the grand doorway, and to the lifts beyond.

With the doors closed, they stood alone, save for the droid attendant. It kept its eyes averted, perfectly discreet though neither of them were fools enough to believe even the generous hosts of this evening would not eavesdrop upon them. But even in the silence, they stood so close. Armitage’s hand had again moved upon his ass; there it lay in soft promise, though Kylo wouldn’t have objected to it hard.

They moved down the corridor with an honour guard of security personnel, for all Armitage wore a blaster upon his hip, and Kylo had never been seen without his saber. Only once inside, with the doors locked firmly behind them, could they truly say they were alone.

And it seemed they would not make it even as far as the bedroom of their suite. “Sit down,” Armitage said, immediately, and Kylo’s synthetic hand swept a lazy curve over his dark robes.

“Like this?”

The eyebrow he raised was of a mood that all but eviscerated his underlings. Kylo just stared back, utterly unabashed. And Armitage rolled his eyes, turned away. “Then strip,” he said, voice clipped, spine ramrod straight. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

It would be the work of seconds to obey directly, but Kylo knew Armitage would take his time. It wouldn’t count so much as a punishment to him, though he’d claim it to be intended as such. Kylo just found that he liked to make it last. That could only be called convenient, he supposed, given their ever-increasing age; much as Kylo might enjoy the thought of a hard fast fuck against a convenient bulkhead, as in the earliest days of their relationship, their bodies were not quite as forgiving of such antics anymore.

Every movement came indolent as he stripped naked, robes left where he shed them. With the curtains still drawn back, and the balcony doors standing open, soft sunlight streamed unfiltered to fall softly against his skin. The afternoon still moved on outside; there would still be meetings after the conclusion of the luncheon they had just abandoned. Certainly Armitage would not allow them to miss those. But there would be time enough for what he wanted now. He would ensure that. And with that in mind Kylo’s hand moved down, grasped lightly at his dick. With each lazy stroke it began to fill out, his arousal coming slow but sure.

“I thought I told you to sit down.”

Turning from the window, Kylo found him: Armitage approached in slow step, slinky and smooth in a full-length robe. With a glass of wine balanced in one hand, the other shifted back to ruin the stiff lines of his pomaded hair.

Kylo’s grin was a crooked, easy thing. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

An obliging hand moved to the belt; a tug of the knot, and it fell open. There his eyes locked, irretrievably drawn to the sliver of white skin revealed. And Armitage shifted, half a step closer, chuckle caught low in his throat.

“Well, you won’t get all of it, if you don’t listen to me now.”

Without protest Kylo stepped back; when his calves encountered resistance, he sat heavily down. Smirking to see him so swallowed by the deep cushions of the couch, Armitage shrugged one shoulder, let the robe slip away from that side. The glass switched hands, and Armitage let it fall entire, revealing a body pale and clean – save for the bands of marriage tattooed darkly about one finger of his left hand. Kylo still marvelled to see them, for all they’d been there for years: matched by the identical design upon his own skin.

But they had aged so much since the day they’d made those promises to each other. Nude, like this, it was easier to see that much of what little body fat Armitage had ever possessed, had been stripped away by those years. There were places now, beneath skin and scar, where he could see the clear shift of delicate bone as if through paper. And as Armitage came to climb into his lap, his weight sat so much slighter upon him. But he remained very much vital, and alive – and where Kylo had silver hairs already amongst the black, Armitage’s hair had only lightened instead: like the washed-out colours of a holo, transmission altered by space and by time.

Still he held with the wine glass in hand, not a drop spilled, for Kylo had yet to see him take a sip of it. Adjusting himself now, with knees either side of Kylo’s own thighs, Armitage rose enough to provide tantalising glimpse of the curves of his ass. Kylo could not rest a jerk of his hips, pressing the head of his cock to the place where those curves met; there he found a slickness, welcome and familiar. With his left hand Kylo took himself in hand, guiding, gifting. As he breached him, a low gasp escaped; he glanced up to find Armitage with eyes half-closed, top teeth gathering in a full lower lip.

“Does it hurt?”

The scathing look would have been answer enough alone. “Does it matter?”

It had always mattered. But still he pushed up, and Armitage pushed back. The resistance faded, accepted – and he was sinking, taking him in. Armitage stopped only when he had seated himself entirely upon his lap, glass still perfectly balanced between his fingers, in the cradle of his palm. Kylo’s hands moved reflexively to his ass, unable to help but press fingertips into the striking softness there. Almost by chance he checked their pressure; he had become so much easier to bruise, now.

Armitage appeared not to care, one hand shifting to brace upon the back of the chair. With a glance down, he took a sip of his wine, smirk hidden behind the curve of the glass. As the long throat shifted with his swallow, he began to shift his hips in lazy back and forth. Kylo jerked his own up, uncaring of reason or rhythm. And even as his glass tilted crazily, Armitage let it spill, laughter bubbling up sudden and strange.

“You’re wasting it,” Kylo said, breathless. Armitage snorted, and upended the glass over his chest. Before Kylo could even react to the chill Armitage began to move again, dick sliding through the puddle he had made. Then, with an impossible curve to his spine, he leaned first forward and then down, tongue tracing a path from breastbone to chin and finally up to his lips. A long kiss followed before he shifted up and back, triumphant in his victory. Kylo simply yanked him close, teeth grazing a nipple as both hands shifted to his back, open-palmed and smooth as he demanded everything of him.

But Armitage would not allow that forever. Leaning back now, he braced hands upon Kylo’s spread knees. The head of his dick still shifted through the spill of the wine, grazing pleasure in the valley of his chest. Kylo could not help but shift his hand, catching it, pressing it down as it thrust. Then he bent his own head forward, found the sharp taste of alcohol. While that had never been something he had enjoyed, he found the essence of Armitage below. Seeking more, he caught the head between his lips, then allowed Armitage push into his mouth even as he continued to take him in his own ass.

Only when his jaw began to ache, echoed by a faint twinge in his back, did Kylo pull off, settling back into the open angle of the couch. Looking up into Armitage’s flushed face felt like a benediction, even before he reached down to rest a hand upon his jaw. For a moment he thought Armitage would lean down, again, and take another kiss. But instead it moved up: there it came to rest upon the only thing he still wore. The obsidian circlet had been fashioned of volcanic glass taken from the holy ground of Mustafar. And Armitage held his silence as he raised it up, and away, finally crowning himself with its shimmering weight.

Kylo made no protest. And Armitage held his gaze as he began to move, again. It came slow at first. In the end he thrust so hard, his dick slapped against Kylo’s chest in violent delight. His own hands had returned to his ass again, but the fingers of his left hand curved inward, pressing against the place where they joined. There, he pressed, just a little too hard: and two fingers slipped inside, following the line of his own dick where Armitage’s ass clenched it tight. And with eyes open, head back, and a gasp strangled in his throat: Armitage came, spend clouding the wine still spread across stomach and chest.

It seemed an age before his tremors slowed to stillness, and then silence. Much as Kylo longed to shift his own hips again, seeking to fan the lazy pleasure still burning in his blood and bones, he had patience. And it was not long at all before Armitage sketched a sigh, hands tightening on Kylo’s thighs as he looked down through hooded eyes.

“Asshole.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, only now slipping his fingers out; there he pressed the blunt tips to the abused rim where his dick still breached him. “…and it’s certainly a fine one.”

Rolling his eyes, Armitage rose; any hiss of discomfort, he kept to himself. And indeed, only Armitage could manage to make this movement seem elegant, turning away to retrieve his glass before moving naked across the room. Kylo found his attention arrested first by the ass on clear display, then the circlet glinting in the lengthening light. As Armitage came to the service, bending slightly to refill his glass, Kylo’s hand at last drifted to his still hard dick. Slow at first, as Armitage began a slow swaying walk back to him, Kylo increased the pace. He moved with perfect ease, as confident this way as in full dress uniform. Pausing but a moment away, Armitage stood over and before him, glass rising to his lips as his eyes looked nowhere else but to Kylo’s own.

“You didn’t get one for me?”

Sinking down at his side, Armitage ignored him, indulging himself with another a sip. Then: he turned his head, leaned forward, passing it to him in one bitter mouthful. The empty hand moved to brace his slight weight upon his knee; as he leaned back, slick fingers shifted down. But they did not go to his dick. Instead they slid down, faint pressure at his perineum. Then: back, and they pressed at his entrance. Kylo’s body could not push back against such welcome pleasure long; they moved in, and Kylo arched, great body slipping further down the chair, eyes closing as his mouth opened.

“Is that enough?” Armitage whispered, against his lips now; the taste of wine there was as dry and lovely as his words. And Kylo laughed, gasping and breathy, half-hoarse surrender.

“It’s never enough.”

It never would be, perhaps. Not even with Armitage’s knowing fingers finding him, quick and sure, callused fingertips grazing over his prostate in teasing caress. It might take a little longer than before. It didn’t matter. This kept them together longer. It made it last. But as always, it ended, hips jerking and mouth gasping for air as he worked himself through the shivering, shimmering heights of it.

But when he opened his eyes again, hazy, half-drowsing, he was not alone. Armitage remained, working on the last of his wine, curled into his side in the simple silence of their afterglow. Through the open window, the sounds of the city beyond were but a murmur, faint backdrop to a story in which they were the only two who mattered. And Kylo raised his hand, fingertips soft over the crown that still nestled in the dying embers of his bright hair.

“There’s work to do,” he said, very low. And Armitage snorted, took another sip.

“There’s always work to do.” He turned, set the glass aside, then moved closer. “But it can wait.”

“Can it?”

An eyebrow, raised – and then Armitage moved over him like a shadow, lowering himself upon him in slow certain kiss. Kylo closed his eyes, and gave in to all that mattered. They’d waited long enough to have everything they ever wanted. It seemed only fair to make the worlds wait for them, if only just for now.


End file.
